Tales of the Heroes of Midgard
by tonystarktheautobot
Summary: After he helped them save the world, Loki was banished to Earth. The only place he can stay - with the Avengers! Frigga, concerned for her children, asks Heimdall to watch over them, and report to her. These are those tales, as told to the Queen, of the lives, loves, and challenges of her sons and their friends. Sequel to Metal Heart. Loki/Tony/Bruce, more pairings inside.
1. Book 1: Prelude to Mischief

Pairings: Tony/Bruce, Tony/Loki, and eventually Bruce/Tony/Loki (it's complicated~ c:); Steve/Thor, eventual Steve/Rhodey/Thor; Pepper/Natasha, Clint/Coulson, Nick Fury/Heimdall, Maria Hill/Sif, Darcy/Jane, and plenty more. But these are the main ones. Enjoy!

* * *

He is walked in wearing chains, surrounded on all sides by SHIELD agents, but it's really just for show. How often, and how easily, Loki has escaped confines much more guarded than this has been seen throughout the last few weeks. This is nothing to him. The only surety that SHIELD has that Loki will go along with them, quickly and quietly, is his own desire to leave their hands, and be with his brother.

Not that it is a pleasant reunion, at all.

All seven Avengers, and Phil Coulson, are waiting for him in the lobby. Thor stands in front, with the Captain just to his right. The rest of the team is spread throughout the room, centered upon Thor, all eyes on the captive in their midst.

There is such hatred in their eyes, such anger. Loki meets each gaze evenly, and tries not to smile. Oh, what fun this will be.

They march him to his brother, where he falls in line, standing at attention. He gestures to his bound hands. "I would greet thee more suitably," He starts, "But as you can see –" Shrugging, he glances at the Captain. The blond is scowling at him quite heavily, distrust in full effect. But there is confusion also, and that – that he can use. How unwise, to reveal such uncertainty before him.

He looks over them all, the firm eyes, stiff shoulders. Until, at last, he sees his brother. Thor's eyes hold no anger, only pain… pain and pity. Loki feels a fire flare inside him at that.

"He's all yours," Nick Fury says behind them, tossing the key to his chains to Natasha Romanov. "Have fun."

"Oh, It'll be a blast." Clint chimes in sharply, voice hollow and rough-edged. The SHIELD agents are already gone by the time he continues. "Can I shoot him?"

"I thought you had already done so?" Loki retorts, and the archer flinches. Wonderful. Guilt. What a pleasant weakness to exploit.

"Enough, brother." Thor sighs, gesturing to Natasha. She walks up and begins working at Loki's cuffs. "It is late, and we are all of us very tired. I shall escort you to your chambers and we shall talk in the morning."

"Shall we?" A thin frown makes its way to his face for a moment. The chains come off; Loki lifts his arms, rubbing at his wrists. "Have I no say in that?"

"You'll find you have no say in a lot of things around here." Natasha retorts evenly, taking the chains.

"We're giving you some leeway," The Captain steps forward, hands on his hips. He has all the self-righteous pride of the position he holds. It irks Loki, burns at his skin, to be spoken to in such a way, by one so small, so insignificant. "You did us a big favor a few months ago. But that doesn't mean we trust you."

"Good." Loki says evenly. "Else you'd be as foolish as I thought you were." The Captain frowns furiously, and after sharing a quick glance with his brother, turns and walks away. The others file out, one by one, until only he and Thor remain.

"Well, Thor?" He says the name with fondness and spite. They are brothers, in bloodshed as much as in bond; and as much as he may desire to, he cannot help but love Thor more than he hates him. And he will never forgive him for that. He will do all he can to cause the man the same pain that burns in his breast, to inflict upon him the aches and agonies that torment Loki every day.

Thor just barely flinches at the name. Perhaps it burns to hear his name said with such disdain. Or, perhaps it hurts more to be denied the affection of "brother". Either way it hurts, and that gives Loki a somber satisfaction. Misery loves company.

When Thor says nothing, he smirks and continues with a gesture towards the hall. "Show me to my… how do the mortals say it? 'Home sweet home'?" Thor frowns more deeply, and Loki finally releases the sharp laugh that's been building in his throat.

* * *

THE TALES OF THE HEROES OF MIDGARD

Book I: Prelude to Mischief

The morning is still young when Frigga, Queen of Asgard, approaches Heimdall at his station near the gates of the realm. Her entry into the dome brings a smile to the guardian's face.

"Greetings, your highness."

"Greetings." She smiles in turn as he faces her and steps down from raised platform. "And how do you fare this fine morning?"

"I am well." His grin broadens. "Yet I doubt that it is my health you are here to inquire after."

"Never doubt that I care for your safety, gatekeeper," Frigga says in kind, yet her smile becomes something of a smirk. "But you are not wrong. Two weeks to the day I stood here with you and spoke of my sons."

Heimdall nods. "I did."

"Then, you told me we would speak again on the second Saturday. And is today not that day?"

"It is, my lady." Stepping closer, Heimdall inclines his head. The gesture is almost conspiratory. Granted, they are doing nothing wrong, yet something does feel… wicked in doing it. The Allfather had proclaimed that no Asgardian would be permitted to seek out Thor and Loki. Yet, he did not forswear watching over them.

The slight edge in her voice softens now, as Frigga moves towards Heimdall. "How are they? Are they well? What of Loki?"

"They are… progressing," Heimdall hedges his voice, trying to be as diplomatic as he can. But there is a reason he is a gatekeeper and not a politician. "Loki has not done much to befriend the people of Midgard."

Sighing, Frigga nods. "Yes, I imagine not." For a brief moment she seems so very disheartened, disillusioned with all the realms. "Last we left, the Avengers themselves were not so stable themselves. Loki has undoubtedly used that to his own gain."

"Gain? No," Heimdall frowns thoughtfully. "Pleasure? Most assuredly. He revels in turning them upon one another with foolish pranks. Yet, it is strange to see him so… passive. What he does is harmless, and it must be said, the wounds the Avengers have inflicted upon each other have come from themselves."

"Loki stokes fires which were already burning, then."

The gatekeeper nods. "Yes, that is so. Asgardian, or mortal, it holds true that those we love, are best able to harm us most deeply. In the five weeks which have passed since they reunited, many such a blow has fallen upon one teammate, from another."

Frigga, eyes misty and half-shut, turns to her guard. "They still struggle, then?"

"Indeed. But have heart, my lady." He smiles, an attempt to lift her heart, for he knows already the end of this tale, and it is a hopeful one. "I do not believe the Avengers shall so easily be broken, after all they have survived." She nods, smiling somewhat, and it pleases him to see her so. "Besides, I have good news!"

His queen looks to him, and when he speaks, she brightens considerably.

"Your youngest son has made a friend."

…

_It is all too easy to simply believe what we see. It takes no effort on our part, and spares us the trouble of attempting to dig deeper. This is how a liar spins his tales – by presenting a superficial image that others take at face value, for how many will take the time to delve into its depths? _

_There is a house on Midgard, dilapidated, and ruined by time. It sits upon a stretch of "country road", amid the wilds of swampland and long plains the mid-western area of the state of North Carolina consists of. The closest towns are small, hardly large enough to mark upon a map. Most drive past this house, ignoring it completely, and taking for granted that it seems abandoned._

_Yet, like all of us, there is more to this place that what it appears to be._

…

_**The Last Week of October**_

Near to 3 in the afternoon, Tony hears the echo of steady footsteps coming down to his garage. He smiles; no, more accurately, he glows. Lit up by an inner gleam he would be much too self-conscious to name, but might easily be called love.

"I'm not getting any younger, you know." Bruce Banner remarks to Tony's back. Grinning, Tony spins round in his chair and lifts the goggles off his eyes.

"Neither am I, and I'm older than you, so what's that say for me?" He chuckles at the irked look on his beloved's face. Any other would be trembling by then… but few others had Bruce and his alter-ego so utterly charmed.

"It says," Bruce starts, cocking an eyebrow. He's got his arms crossed, stepping towards Tony with restrained irritation that comes across as mostly playful. "That you should come eat lunch before we're both _middle aged_."

Wincing, Tony thinks of the greys in his hair, the aches in his joints. "Hate to break it to you, babe – hey!" In his hesitation, Tony gave Bruce the opening he needed, and Bruce took it: grabbing hold of the man's chair, he forcibly rolls it towards the hallway that leads to the elevator.

"We all agreed," Bruce continues as they near the hallway to the elevator.

"People make mistakes!" is Tony's quick retort. He's doing his best to waylay his partner, grabbing at the walls, dragging his legs, tripping Bruce when he can. It's not working so well, partially because they are both busy laughing.

"We agreed," The doctor goes on as if Tony never spoke, "That as part of learning how to be a better team, we would have set meal times and we'd all eat together!"

"Lies! Blasphemy! I never signed anything!" The elevator doors open, and in a last bid for freedom, Tony leaps out of his chair – only to be grabbed and pulled back in by the collar. He spins round mid pull, ready to rant and rave some more, only to be silenced by a kiss.

The chime of the elevator doors closing brings both of them out of their reverie. Tony leans away first, in something of a daze, blinking slowly.

"Well," He starts, licking his lips. "Why didn't you start with that argument in the first place?"

Bruce beams.

The elevator chimes again when they reach the main floor, the doors sliding open to reveal quite the scene. It's a familiar one, after the last few months, but there's still something about it that warms Bruce's heart every time. This is his family, his home, he thinks, and feels such a swell of joy, followed by a tide of rumbling, a fervent need to protect this place and these people he cherishes.

"Hey, you okay buddy?" tony enters his line of sight, waving his hand in front of Bruce's eyes. "You've gone a little green there."

"I'm fine." He smiles, and it's true. He really is fine, they both are. "Hulk says hello."

"Hello, Hulk." And Tony swoops in, planting a soft kiss on Bruce's cheek, a sign of affection for and recognition of Hulk and his place in their relationship. For the thousandth time Bruce feels lost for words, undone by the devotion and love this man holds for both of them.

The main floor is a long rectangular space, with a kitchen on one end, a living room on the other, and a makeshift dining room in-between. There are no walls but for the four surrounding them, and no windows at all. It's an open, modern space, and it is very, very loud.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Comes from one side of the room suddenly, a bellowing outcry of betrayal and anguish, followed by a sharp laugh. Bruce glances across the room; Rhodey and Clint are both glued to the TV, Wii motes in hand.

"Yes!" The airman leaps to his feet and punches the air. "That's what you get!"

"YOU BLUE SHELLED ME!" Clint, now on his feet as well, drops the Wii mote to the couch in his outrage. "I was this close to winning damn it!"

"What?" Rhodey, feigning a confused look, leans towards Clint with a hand on his ear. "Sorry, can't hear you way up here in second place."

"Come on, guys." Both of them are interrupted by a familiar commanding tone. Steve is standing behind the stove in the kitchen, gesturing at them with a spatula. "Lunch is getting cold, hurry up."

As they move towards the kitchen, Tony winks in Bruce's direction, then nods towards Steve. He doesn't have to look to know what Tony's getting at, and Bruce hides a smile. Their captain is currently dressed in a red, white, and blue 4th of July apron he'd first worn on a dare, and had since taken to wearing whenever he cooked. It was strangely fitting, and yet also undoubtedly hilarious.

"Mhm, smells great Steve." Bruce begins. "Can I help?"

Steve shakes his head. "We've got it. And don't thank me, I wasn't in charge today." He smiles and nods behind him.

Thor is at the sink, working away at cleaning dishes, his hair pulled back into a ponytail. As he moves towards the table, Bruce calls out to him. "Thanks, Thor, it smells great."

The Thunderer turns, beaming. "Thank you! I hope it pleases you." So does Bruce, because he's not sure how many more times he can fake enjoyment of strange Asgardian feasts.

"Please, please, please, be meat from something Earth-ly," Tony leans over and whispers into his ear, almost reading his mind. When he leans away, Bruce hits him with a somewhat stern look, though he does understand. It's wonderful that Thor's taking to cooking for them, but there's only so many times one can eat Strange Alien Meat and not cringe.

Rhodey and Clint are still bickering as they take their places at the table; Natasha is already sitting cross-legged at one end of the table, reading a book entitled "The Cutting Season" by someone named Attica Locke.

"Where's Phil?" Bruce asks as he takes a seat.

"Prof. Xavier's." Clint answers him. Ah. Bruce had heard he'd been trying to work with the Professor on understanding his new Asgardian nature, and that it… hadn't been going so well. He frowns, concerned, but has no chance to ask more before lunch is served.

A plate is placed in front of every Avenger by a very enthusiastic Asgardian, who is grinning ear to ear in his "kiss the cook" apron. (Tony has to be behind that, somehow.) Only once everyone has a dish does Thor take a seat at the table opposite Natasha, who has set down her book in order to inspect the meal.

Bruce decides to follow suit, glancing down to examine the rather… large… grilled sandwich on his plate. "It… smells delicious?" He sounds questioning not because it isn't true – it smells wonderful – but because there is certainly something odd about this.

"Uh, no offence meant, Thor, but," Tony asks what's on all their minds. "What is it?"

"A grilled cheese!" He states cheerfully. "Steve taught me to make these. There are more in the kitchen, allow me to fetch them." Then, he stands and heads towards the counter.

"Oh, thank god." Clint mutters, head dropping towards the table. "Something normal for once." He pointedly ignores Steve's elbow hitting his ribs.

"They're… thick." Natasha, the first to pick up her sandwich, is watching as it steadily droops back down to the plate, a slouching mess of bread and cheese.

"Thor is, uh, generous, when it comes to food." Steve smiles weakly, then picks up the sandwich and takes a huge bite. And that is the Avenger's cue to follow suit. Soon, everyone has their mouths full.

"Wow," Between bites, Tony cringes a little, speaking in a quiet tone. "Who wants some bread with their cheese?" He's silenced by a kick under the table, undoubtedly from the Captain.

"Quiet, now." He says sternly, though he looks to be thinking something along those lines.

"I can do quiet." Rhodey replies after swallowing. "The cheese has practically melted my mouth shut, anyway." Muffled laughter is cut off quick once Thor returns to the table, two more platters of his sandwiches in tow. And when he asks whether anyone would like more, every person at the table requests seconds; and somehow, his bright smile grows brighter.

They eat, they chat, and share a few laughs. The heroes of Midgard at midday, a relaxed time when, luckily enough, the world seems well. For the moment.

"What's on the agenda today?"

Bruce replies to Cap's question first. "I was thinking of heading into town. I'm running close to empty on some medications and emergency supplies, so I figured it would be good to hit the pharmacy."

At that, the archer at the table looks up, lifting his hand. He doesn't talk – his mouth is full – but after a moment, he chimes in. "Mind picking up a prescription for me?"

To this, Bruce blinks, somewhat taken aback. "Sure." Clint grins and sets his napkin on the table, standing to leave the room – then, suddenly, he's being asked the same question twice over. "Okay, how about anyone who needs a refill, just bring me the prescription?" Natasha, Steve, Clint, and Rhodey all vacate the room in a flash.

It occurs to Bruce then, that he knows very little about the actual medical histories of his team mates. Most days, he acts as team "doctor", standing in for a professional in the field and at home, treating mild wounds and keeping an eye on the team's baseline health. But he doesn't actually know the conditions and treatments his friends are undergoing, the medications they take, or what they've been diagnosed with – things the actual team doctor really should know.

By the time people begin piling into the room again, lunch has been cleaned up, and Tony's in the kitchen working on the dishes.

"Here you go," Clint tosses him a medicine bottle, which Bruce catches mid-air. He flips it around to read the front, taking in the information while nodding to himself. He's about to tuck it away when a hand snatches it from above.

"Methlyphenidate – that's generic Ritalin." Tony, holding the bottle, cocks an eyebrow at Clint. "ADD?"

Clint doesn't seem to care about sharing the information, so Bruce gives a sigh and lets it slide. Ever the comedian, the archer puffs up his chest, shining a hand on his shoulder. "ADHD-1, if you must know." Tony's quiet for a moment, before he breaks into a grin, and holds up two fingers. Clint's eyebrows rise. "Really? Actually, wait – I'm not surprised. That is not surprising at all."

Still grinning, Tony drops the bottle on the table and dashes into the kitchen. Opening the cabinet, he pulls out a tray of medicine bottles, and tosses one at Clint.

"Here you go, Ritalin SR at 10mgs." Tony says – only to be cut off by Bruce breaking into an outburst of sputtering.

"Tony!" Standing, the doctor crosses the room to Clint, snatching the bottle. "You do not share medication!" He gestures at his boyfriend with a stern frown, and immediately the man holds up his hands in surrender.

"Of course not, I would never what in the world would make you think that?" Bruce can hear Clint chuckling behind his shoulder.

At that point, Steve enters the room, and makes a bee line for Bruce. "Thanks for doing this," He starts, holding out the bottle, but it doesn't even make it to Bruce's hands before Tony's got it.

"Tony!"

"Let's see, fluoxetine? That's Prozac." And with a spin, Tony approaches his little table, grabs a bottle, and tosses it at Steve. "There you go, 20 mgs of Prozac – though undoubtedly you need a larger dose, big guy."

"Tony Stark!"

"Whaaatttt I am just being helpful!" He knows damn well he's not, and Bruce can tell by the amused glow in his eyes. He's laughing even as Bruce takes the bottle back from a baffled Steve and shoves it into Tony's hand.

"No. sharing."

"Sir, yes, sir."

Natasha, who had quietly entered the room earlier and is now smirking at the scene, approaches last. "Thanks, doc," She says with a small smile, handing him a bottle. He takes it from her, looking down at the bottle, and –

"Wait… Klonopin? That's –"

"Clonazepam!" Tony chirps brightly, picking up a bottle from his tray, tossing it in the air towards Natasha – but this time, Bruce catches it mid-throw and tosses it right back, enjoying the dismayed squawk he hears from the kitchen.

He's not really thinking about Tony right now, though. "This stuff is for anxiety, mostly, and – and seizures. You…?" This is, well, perhaps not surprising. They've all faced terrible things. And yet, of all of them, Bruce would not have pegged Natasha as having some form of anxiety.

She must realize what he's thinking, because she nods. "I have panic attacks. Certain things trigger them, these help me calm down, and get to sleep at night." Then she shrugs, like it's nothing at all.

"You have panic attacks?" Steve, also clearly concerned, steps towards her. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, was that -?" Tony, still standing by the counter with his arms crossed, frowns slightly. "Was that a thing we were supposed to be sharing?"

It occurs to Bruce that Tony also has a prescription for Clonazepam (as well as all those other things and are all of those legal?). He turns on the man, eyebrow cocked. "You have panic attacks?"

"Maybe, sort've, kind of?" The man squirms, clearly uncomfortable. "But the real point here is, Natasha has panic attacks?"

"The _point_ is, we are a team, and our problems affect everyone." Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Not that I'm not guilty of the same. I guess I – health stuff didn't occur to me."

"It should've occurred to me!" Frowning, Bruce looks to the bottles he's now gathered, his own ire at himself growing. "I'm the doctor; I should have started keeping records on all of us weeks ago, instead of relying on SHIELD to do it."

"You're guilty, he's guilty, we're all guilty." Natasha snorts. "Enough of the blame game. We made a mistake, we'll fix it. That's that."

And that was, in fact, that.

…

"_Ah. I think perhaps I see some of what you alluded to before."_

_They see what they want to see. As do we all. But it is only in delving beneath the surface that we truly learn anything of one another. Such a thing is not easily done._

"_I imagine it shall not be easy for them."_

_No, indeed. And for some, it is much harder than for others…_

…

_**The First Friday in November**_

"When were you diagnosed?"

"SHIELD. No shit." Clint laughs at the look on Tony's face. "Had no clue before I signed on. What a way to find out, too. 'Hey, guess what? You aren't stupid and lazy after all!'"

"How old were you?" Tony asks the question with surprisingly sobriety, eyes half closed, a beer lifted towards his face.

"Late twenties I guess. You?"

Before he answers, he takes a long swig. "I was probably sixteen, seventeen? I think." He lifts the bottle again, hesitates, then shrugs and takes a swig. "Dear old daddy medicated the fuck out of me for years just to keep me "suitable" for the public eye."

Wincing, Clint takes a swig of his own drink. "Goddamn. That's harsh."

"You gotta understand, this was back when ADHD was just entering public knowledge, and before that, kids like us were considered "minimally brain damaged" and shit like that. So having the only son of the Stark family considered 'brain damaged'? Fuck, no." Tony laughs, but it's not the joyous laugh Clint's come to know so well. It's hollow, a pained and empty echo. "What a fun time of my life."

They both fall quiet for a moment, each perhaps remembering some darker time, or struggling for a way to divert the conversation away from such thoughts. Clint tries to think of some diversion, but he's gripping his beer bottle tight and thinking of his own childhood, his own "dear old daddy". He imagines Stark had it better, but not by much.

Whatever might have been spoken then, they'll never know, for Thor chooses that moment to walk in and interrupt.

"Forgive me, friends," He begins rather nervously, which is very strange for him. Both Clint and Tony turn to look behind the couch to their friend. Thor's standing with a tray full of food, obviously leftovers from what he'd made for breakfast that same morning. "I would not interrupt, but I must ask a favor of one of you."

"No big deal Thor." Tony waves him off. "Shoot."

"My…" He glances at Clint, caution in his eyes, and the archer suddenly understands. A chill shimmies up his spine. "brother, never came down for a meal this morning. He seems to be avoiding me, else I would take this to him. Would one of you…?"

Frozen, Clint lowers his eyes, gripping the back of the couch tight. He hears Tony move beside him.

"Sure thing." He replies, taking the tray from Thor. He spares a concerned glance Clint's way, but the archer doesn't meet his eyes, won't even look up until both of them are gone.

* * *

Tony takes the elevator to the third floor, a space consisting of one hallway, lined with bedrooms. Mostly, it's empty; Thor has one room at the far end, and at the exact opposite end, is Loki's quarters.

Loki rarely leaves that space. In fact, Tony's not sure he's ever seen him outside those rooms, save perhaps a few meals shared with Thor. Those have become rarer as the days have passed. Time and again, it seems every conversation between the brothers ends in shouting and fist fights. It… hasn't been pretty.

Not that Tony's own family situation was ever pretty. He winces as the elevator doors slide open.

The hall is empty, as he had imagined it would be, but somehow the appearance is ominous. "It's quiet," He finds himself saying as he steps out. "Too quiet." But no one is there to laugh at his joke, and suddenly, Tony doesn't feel like laughing. Something is… off.

He frowns at his own superstitious behavior. Asgardian or not, Loki is just another asshole taking out his problems on everyone else. There's nothing to be afraid of here. He's got six people ready to be at his back in an instant, and JARVIS is certainly watching his every move. He's fine.

So, taking in another deep breath, Tony saunters down the hall, and comes to stand outside Loki's room. He knocks twice, then waits. Nothing. Knocks again. "Special delivery!" He hadn't really expected Loki to open the door, but an acknowledgement would at least be nice. "Knock knock, anyone home?"

Completely quiet.

That seems… unlike him. For all that Loki loves to pretend the mortal members of the Avengers don't exist, he still takes every chance he can to poke fun at them. It's hard to believe Loki wouldn't pop up to trade a few insults, at least. Frowning, Tony looks over the door for a moment.

"JARVIS, what's he doing in there?"

"I'm… not certain, sir. I cannot see him in the main living quarters, and the camera to his room has been cut off."

"Cut off?" Now, he really feels agitated. Loki had agreed to a few rules when he moved in – and yeah, Tony hardly expected he'd obey them at all, but still, come on. It's hardly been two weeks and he's already pulling shady stuff? "Okay, wise guy, what are you up to?" He adjusts the tray in his hand and touches the door, almost surprised to find nothing barring his entry. It's not even locked. Loki probably never imagined any of the Avengers would bother to seek him out.

Frowning, Tony takes a deep breath, suppresses all the little voices in his head telling him what a stupid idea this is, and steps into the room.

It's a basic set up. A large living space, a small kitchenette with a coffee pot, a TV in one corner. Clint had advocated leaving Loki in an empty cell, but Tony figures a Loki with things to do, is a Loki less likely to start entertaining himself by pulling shitty pranks. Steve and the others had agreed, so, TV. But from the looks of it, Loki's been more interested in the written word than the boob tube. Bookshelves that Tony doesn't remember adding to the room line every wall, filled from top to bottom by texts, scrolls, charts, anthologies, works in every language from practically every age. It's a goddamn treasure trove.

"Holy shit," Tony absentmindedly sets the tray on the counter nearby, stumbling towards a bookshelf. "How did these get here JARVIS?"

"I'm afraid I cannot see what you see, sir."

"Magic again." And magic that JARVIS has no ability to spot. Tony's really got to get working on recognizing Loki's spells, and soon. "It's just bookshelves, don't worry about it." Then, he suddenly realizes that perhaps these books aren't exactly harmless. Magic books? Spells of doom? He picks one up – it's Thomas Mann's "Death in Venice". Okay, maybe he's worrying a little too much.

Suddenly, he hears a noise from the other room, a thump, like something falling. It very quickly occurs to him that he's snooping in Loki's room and this is a Very Bad Idea, and maybe he should get going. Only, he hears another noise. Like – grunting? Oh shit, is Loki getting down with somebody? Tony half grins at the idea but the grin dies on his face at the next sound.

It's a scream.

Pain is a distinct force. Tony knows enough of it by now to understand its nuances. Pain has multitudes, it has variations. The pain of a betrayal is different than the pain of anguish. Tony knows what loss sounds like, he knows what being stabbed by a jagged piece of metal through the ribs feels like, what the air being forcibly expelled from your lungs feels and sounds like. He can taste torture on his tongue, and feel it shaking in his bones.

Tony hears that scream, and he knows. He knows that pain by its sound.

In an instant he has no thoughts in his mind, no considerations, but to give peace to that sound. He barrels across the room to the bedroom, throwing the door open and facing no resistance. He barely sees a thing once he enters, he only has eyes for the twisted form on the bed, the contorted visage, the fingers half clenched and legs shaking from exertion. The body, remembering, the mind, suffering, the heart, aching.

In his dreams, in his memories, Loki is being tortured.

"Loki!" Tony's at his side in a second, grabbing at him. But he's flailing, half uncovered, and his naked upper half is littered with scars and markings. It's – it's grotesque. Obscene. Eyes wide, Tony half sits on the bed, grabbing at Loki's arms but his strength is overwhelming. A hand flung out in self-defense catches his cheek and the blow sends stars through his vision. That's going to ache for a week.

"Loki! It's a dream, wake up! Loki!"

He's not sure when, or how, it happens, but it does – Loki wakes up. Stunned eyes, bright red and vividly, nakedly feeling, meet Tony's. It's beyond the definition of uncomfortable. Suddenly they are each seeing one another, and Tony knows – he knows goddamn it – that there is no partiality, no objectivity on his face, just agony of his own, and he's meeting Loki's gaze and damn it there are tears in the man's eyes –

An unseen force flings him away suddenly, and he flies out the bedroom door, hits a bookshelf against the far wall with a heavy thud, head reeling. More screaming hits his ears then, but it's vicious and enraged this time, full of angry promises and curses. Tony doesn't stay to hear it all, he stumbles to his feet, runs out the door, and doesn't stop until he's in the elevator. He can still hear Loki screaming then.

Slowly, painfully, Tony slides to the floor, out of breath and covered in sweat. "JARVIS, that – did that just happen?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it did, sir."

"That's what I thought." He whispers fitfully, still wide eyed. Absentmindedly, he wipes a tear of his own off his face. "That's what I thought."

…

"…"

_I am sorry, my Queen. … would you like to adjourn for the time being?_

"_No, please – continue. I – I must know how he fares."_

_Very well._

…

_**November 3**_

The hour is late, and the Avengers are gathered in their dining hall, sharing a meal together. Not one of them recognizes the added number in their midst. The mortals have no capacity for magic, and Thor, for all his might, may as well be as them. Loki's skill in the magical crafts has always far surpassed his brother's.

He watches them; circles the table, quiet, invisible, listening to their inane chatter. Thor is telling a story of some sort, obviously a great war tale of his. The mortals are eating it up. It sickens him, to see this. To see his brother making merry with these – these infants as if they were equal. As if they meant anything at all.

"On this day, the fight came to Jotunheim." Thor continues the story. Now that he is paying attention, Loki believes he remembers it; it is one Thor loves to tell.

"Okay, which place is that again?" The Captain interrupts. He looks fascinated, engaged. Loki sneers upon his naïve visage. To think this man captivates his brother so. He cannot understand it. Mortals are weak, foolish. They are nothing.

"The home of the Jotuns, the Frost Giants, great monsters and enemies of my people."

Loki hears the words, hears them, recognizes them as truth; and he feels cold, chilled to the bone and full of hate. It is a cacophonous feeling, lacking direction, and spewing in all directions at once: hatred of himself, of Thor, of Asgard, of the Jotuns, of… everything.

"Loki's a Jotun, isn't he?"

His head snaps up. Wide eyed, Loki turns his gaze upon the speaker, much as everyone else at the table has.

"Come again?" The human pilot Rhodes asks, fork half lifted to his face.

"Loki." The speaker is the Iron Man, Tony Stark. He seems… hesitant, yet defiant. "That's what Asgard told SHIELD anyway. 'The stolen son of a conquered people', or something, isn't that how the myth goes? I don't know, I'm behind on my Norse."

That is not, in fact, "how the myth goes". Loki knows the myths are greatly distorted, and with narrowed eyes, he wonders how this mortal man could know so much of the truth. How much had SHIELD been told by Odin? All, it seems. His father appears to no longer hold any loyalty to him, not even to keeping his darker secrets.

"… yes, Loki… he was born a Jotun." Thor answers. His head is lowered, frame tense. Loki smiles. Good. Let him squirm.

"… 'born', and, what?" Tony shrugs, eyebrows high. "Did Odin magic him into an Asgardian or something?"

Frowning, Thor turns his head. "I – I don't know. Loki has always appeared as one of us. He – he is Asgardian."

"But he's not." This is Bruce, the Hulk, speaking. Brow furrowed, confusion writ upon his face. "He's one of your sworn enemies? I don't understand."

"Yeah, me neither." Tony grumbles. He takes a moment to take a bite of dinner, then continues. "You guys never really told us what went down in Arizona, you know. And I'd love to know how a crown prince of Asgard started running with the Chitauri. Somehow I don't think "fell in with the wrong crowd" quite covers it."

"Who the fuck cares?!" Clint Barton expels suddenly, throwing his arm out with such force he knocks over the glass in front of him. The motion and its consequences shocks the table into silence. "… S – sorry. I'm – shit." Clint stands, grabbing for a napkin, but he is impeded by Rhodes, who stands as well.

"Don't worry, I've got it." The man tells him, but Clint merely nods his head forcefully, before turning and storming from the room. The Black Widow is quick to stand and run after him.

The Captain sighs. "Why do you always have to push?"

"Sorry." Tony replies quietly. "But they are legitimate questions. This guy is – was – fuck I don't know… Loki was our enemy. He helped us. Now he's living here. We should probably know more about all… this."

"Be careful how you think of him." Thor replies after a time. "He did not help us. Loki helps himself – and in saving Earth, he helped me. But he cares not for mortals."

"So, he broke the rules and saved our planet for the guy who calls his people monsters?" Tony mutters.

Thor lifts his gaze. Without a word, he stands, and leaves the room. Loki watches him go in stunned silence, undone by the scene. Feeling, thinking nothing. Just – stunned.

…

_**The Next Day**_

Rhodey touches down on earth, and releases his grip on Natasha only once he's sure both her feet are on the ground. "Doing okay?"

Once the face plate lifts, he can clearly see her smile. "Fine, Lt. Col. It was a smooth ride. Smoother than flying with Tony, at least."

He lets out a barking laugh at that. "Yeah, you can tell only one of us has a piloting license. I've tried talking him into taking lessons but no can do." Tony's a stubborn one, if he's nothing else, and he hates having to listen to other people.

They start out of the woods together, heading towards the country road ahead, and the house across from it. They don't talk much; Cap always insists that the journey from the landing points to the house should be as quick and quiet as possible. Only once they enter the seemingly abandoned home, open the door to the "bathroom", and ride the elevator down to the Avengers Base, do Natasha and Rhodey really start chatting.

"So, how did you like your first mission as an Avenger?" Natasha turns to Rhodey, smirking slightly. The words make the man's heart race just a little and he can't help but smile.

"It was… kinda dull, I'll be honest." Then, he laughs. "Is SHIELD going easy on me?"

"Going easy on all of us, more like." She replies. "Granted, it seems like the world has quieted down since we showed up on the scene."

That was true, too. Very few people wanted to tangle with the Avengers, especially now that they had proved their might twice over. "Well, I'm not going to ask for anything harder, because knowing my luck, I'd get it." He's sure that life will get harder all too soon, as life tends to do. For now, he'll enjoy the peace.

Natasha nods in understanding as the elevator doors open on the main floor. They both step out, one after the other. "Hey, JARVIS?" Rhodey starts as he begins removing the suit. There's an alcove nearby that acts as a handy storage place. "Where are the guys?"

"In gymnasium level 2, sir."

"Training without us." Natasha tsks, crossing her arms. "Shall we join them?"

Rhodey grins. "Let's. The mission today wasn't that much of a work out, anyway." And so they both hop back in the elevator. The gym is right beneath the main floor, so it doesn't take long to get there. The door chimes, slides open, and reveals a wide open court space, which is currently echoing with a great deal of noise.

BANG, ROAR, BANG. Thor flies past both of them as they step onto the floor, slamming into the far wall. He doesn't stay down for long, of course. With a grin, he leaps to his feet, charging at his opponent. Hulk roars and charges just the same, and the two meet in the middle with a thunderous boom that shakes the whole place.

Rhodey whistles. "Damn. Hope Tony reinforced this place enough." He shakes his head in disbelief, glancing at Natasha out of the corner of his eye. Then, seeing the stiffness in her posture, he turns to her. "Natasha?"

She's frozen. Head to toe, stiff as a board, a look of distant apathy on her face, but it belies a darker mood. There's too much tension in her for anything else. She looks as if she's ready to bolt, or preparing for an attack, but there's nothing going on. "Natasha?" He reaches out to touch her, but hesitates, unsure if it would be welcomed. "You okay?"

There's a pause between his words and her response, a delay. Then, she… twitches. Her mouth lifts in a weak facsimile of a smile. "I'm fine."

Hulk roars; and Natasha jumps. Rhodey turns to face her, concerned beyond belief, hands lifted towards her. "Is there anything I can do? Do you want to leave?"

Again, she hesitates. Then, a trembling, "Yes." They both turn and start for the elevator, Rhodey placing a hand gently upon her back.

"LOOK OUT!"

Distracted by his teammate, Rhodey almost doesn't notice the hammer flying through the air towards them. Just in time, he sees it, and reacts, throwing himself over Natasha and pulling them to the ground. It flies overhead, hitting the wall with a resounding thud, undoubtedly leaving a large dent. Rhodey's hit with the image of the kind of dent that weapon might've left in him or Natasha suddenly and rage floods him.

He leaps to his feet, fuming, and stalks over to the hammer. Picks it up – damn, what a doozy! – and turns to Thor with a deep frown. "Watch where the hell you aim this thing!" He declares, before lifting it up and tossing it towards the man. Thor doesn't catch it, he's too busy gaping to even look at it. The hammer flies past him, and hits another wall.

Why's he staring? Still angry, Rhodey decides to ignore it, returning to Natasha and helping her stand. She's still visibly shaken, and keeps glancing at Hulk out of the corner of her eye. He's got to get her out of here. He stands with her, and doesn't notice how every single other person in the room is staring at him with dull shock. They both enter the elevator, leaving the room behind, but not just before he can hear Tony shout, "Oh for fuck's sake!"

…

"_Another mortal who can wield Mjolnir? How interesting."_

_Your son thinks so as well. But that is a tale for next time, perhaps. Allow me to first finish explaining this story of Loki, and the one called Tony Stark…_

…

_**November 5**_

"Footage retrieved, sir."

Tony nods, turning to the computer. "Pull 'er up, JARVIS." He's in the garage again, as he has been almost non-stop for the past few days. The others may or may not be under the assumption that he's working on a new project. In a way, they're right.

On the screen, security footage from a SHIELD base pops up. It's the right date and time, he's checked. And there – right on schedule. Loki.

"Hot damn," he whispers, leaning closer to the computer. Wow, he is good. Hacking SHIELD is always fun, but this time, he wasn't sure he'd get what he wanted. This footage was beyond top shelf security, and SHIELD is waaay over the top on protection to boot.

But, here it is. The footage of the night Loki came through the Tesseract portal, and launched havoc.

"If I may ask, what are you looking for sir?"

For a moment, Tony ignores JARVIS, and keeps watching the footage. Keeping a keen eye on his target, watching his every move. The longer he watches, the more his eyes darken, and his face falls. There it is, all right there in front of him.

In these images, Loki looks… deranged. On the edge. He's limping in most of the footage, and appears to not have slept for a week. Tony watches him move through the base with winces and sighs, tense muscles and pain written clearly upon his face. The man is not okay. Yet, hours later, they would meet in Germany, and Tony would see only a smarmy asshole in a shiny hat. How could he not have seen through that? How did he not know?

"Sir?"

He hits pause on the screen, runs his hands over his face, lets a sigh escape him. He'd known what he would see, but somehow seeing it still feels horrible. Perhaps it always will with these things.

"Should I call someone sir?"

"I'm fine, JARVIS." He replies, dropping his arms. "Hide this on my private server. I'm done for now."

He heads into the elevator and takes it to the main floor. It's practically dinner time anyway, he figures; might as well. Not that he feels much like eating. His chest is on fire, like his stomach's throwing a coup, and it's hardly pleasant. Food might just make him throw up right about now.

"Hey, look who's alive!" Clint's in front of the couch, Natasha slumped against him and sleeping on his arm. "Want to join us? We've got Papa John's and we're about to start a movie."

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to head to bed." He waves and turns down the hall, sighing as he does. The others call out their own farewells, but he doesn't really hear them. He stumbles down the hallway towards his bedroom, feeling half asleep already.

Opens the door to his room and yawns, stretching. The door closes, and the room stays dark. Tony blinks. "Hey, JARVIS, what happened to -?"

BAM.

A hand wraps around his throat and lifts, and is followed by vicious brute force that slams him into the nearest wall. Tony's ears ring with the blow, and he cringes in agony.

"JARV -!" Another hand covers his mouth. He grabs it tight, struggling to pry it free, to no avail. Two bright, sneering green eyes meet his in the dark.

"Sir? Sir!"

"Why?" His voice rips through the air like a blade, just as piercing. "What do you gain from this? Does it give you joy to mock my misery?" Loki grimaces, then tosses Tony to the side. He hits the floor and reels, unsure which way is up or down.

"Sir, hold on! I've called for assistance!"

"Don't bother," Loki sneers at the ceiling. "You're voice goes unheeded so long as I desire." Then, he waves his hand through the air, and JARVIS quite literally goes silent. Terror seeps into Tony then, as he struggles to sit up. Loki sets his eyes back on him, and his heart skips.

"You," The man is bearing down on him in a second, and Tony can't back away fast enough. Once again a hand is around his throat, lifting him, and oh God, he can't breathe, he can't breathe – "Mortals, always butting in where they aren't wanted. Do you pity me, is that it? Am I your pet project, as the archer says? Shall you reform me, cure me of my pain, as a balm to your own damned soul?" He lets out a sharp laugh, nails biting into Tony's flesh. "Tell me, human, which is it? Tell me why! Why!"

He can't speak, oh god, he can't breathe he's going to die he's going to –

SKRHCK. The TV cuts on. Loki's head snaps to the side, eyes wide and furious. Tony can't turn, can barely see, but he can still hear the voice. Oh, god, he recognizes it. It's the news broadcast from his return… from Afghanistan.

"… after three months in captivity, weapons developer Tony Stark has been found in the deserts outside…" Fading in and out, Tony closes his eyes. He doesn't have to hear it, he knows it so well. "… badly injured and malnourished, undoubtedly the victim of harsh treatment… possibly torture…"

The word rings in his ears, oh how it rings. Or maybe that's just his ears, ringing. He's in a lot of pain.

Suddenly, his feet are on the ground, and he can breathe again, though the hacking and coughing isn't exactly pleasant. Tony falls to his knees, grabbing at his chest, water stinging his eyes.

"So." Loki's boots are just in front of him. He hasn't moved. "It was pity."

When he's got his voice back, Tony looks up through cloudy eyes at the man. "Not pity." He insists. "Empathy." Another cough bursts from him then. "If you even know what that means."

Loki huffs at the word. "Ah, empathy." Then, his look hardens. "As if you could understand me."

"I understand what it's like to be at someone else's mercy." Struggling to his feet, Tony forces breath in and out of his lungs, trying to keep himself calm, to keep moving. He's not sure what he's doing here, but hell, when is he ever sure of anything? "I know what it is to be pushed and pushed until you are broken and bleeding under someone else's thumb." Now standing, he meets Loki's distant, cold gaze with his own hard glare. "I don't care who or what you are, 'mortal', Asgardian, Jotun – whatever. No one deserves that. No one."

Loki meets his gaze evenly, still and utterly calm, for once. Then, in a flash, he's gone.

* * *

Queen Frigga is smiling, but the smile is tense, and lined with pain.

"Forgive me, your majesty." Heimdall starts softly. "I realize it is a hard tale I tell." He watches her wipe at her eyes, mourning for the boy who has become such a tormented man.

"It is fine, Gatekeeper." She tells him. "But perhaps you are right – let us adjourn for the time being. I am… not sure I can listen to much more right now."

Heimdall, nodding, steps away from his post, and extends his arm to her. She gives a quiet, watery laugh.

"What is this?"

"I would escort you, if you desire it. To think what the kingdom would believe, to see their Queen leave my station in tears!" That makes her laugh, and take his arm, and perhaps her spirits are brightened.

They walk for a moment in quiet. "They become close, don't they?" The Queen lifts her head. "Loki and this… Tony Stark. Tell me, is this man a friend to my son?"

Heimdall, his gold eyes bright, looks out upon the Earth on the 23 of November, and he smiles. "Oh yes, my queen." He says. "He is, at that."


	2. Book 1: Part 2: Doubt

Book I: Prelude to Mischief

Part II:

Hardly a day passes before Heimdall finds the Queen of Asgard approaching him once again at his station on the borders of the realm.

"My lady," he turns to her, half bowing. "You are quite early indeed."

"I am," Frigga begins. She sounds harried, a look of consternation fixed upon her face. "I would apologize for it, but I feel no remorse." In a few strides, she comes to stand beside him on the dais, holding her dress up from the floor. "I may yet find the strength in me to bear a fortnight with no news of my sons, but I shall not find it today. Not after…" She trails off, eyes half lidded, and Heimdall feels his chest constrict.

"Worry not, I meant no malcontent." He consoles her. "I would have been surprised had you waited. In time, two weeks may seem as nothing, but I am certain that as of now, you can think of nothing but your sons and what grieves them." Turning, he glances out upon the vast starry expanse before them. "We did adjourn at a harsh conclusion, after all."

"We did indeed." Her voice is tight, eyes red, and he can see the shadows of her weeping upon her. This has not been easy on the Queen. Losing both her sons, forced to stand by her husband and King, and watch them suffer from afar. Heimdall grieves for her, and for them.

"I will gladly tell you more of Loki." He begins. "But first, allow me to introduce Thor into this tale. We have spoken little of him thus far."

"Yes, please," Frigga sighs, nodding, clenching her hands together tightly. The veil of the Queen descends once more. "How has my eldest faired?"

"Well enough," Heimdall turns his gaze to the stars. "He worries – for his homes, old and new. His friends, and his brother. But it is not these fears which trouble him most, no. It is a feeling Thor has known little of, a thought which troubles him greatly. For perhaps the first time in his life, Thor struggles because he doubts himself."

…

_The fear of failure, of uselessness, is one that troubles many mortals. But Asgardians, given to a position and a duty and trained for it from birth, have a greater sense of our place in the realm, and how we may serve it. Self-doubt rears its head little here._

_But on Earth, an ever-changing, multi-cultural landscape of values and beliefs, finding where one belongs and what worth one has is a greater challenge. Doubt ever haunts mortals. It is a shadow trailing their every move. _

_Thor now finds himself a victim of this same shade. An exiled prince with nothing to his name, he questions his worth to the Avengers… and others on the team share much the same fear…_

_**October 26**_

Steve sets down his fifth and final box, and feels a swell of excitement and joy flood him. There! Now, all his belongings are here. They may not be unpacked, may not be arranged, but they're here. It feels official now, even though they've been planning it for ages, and he can't help but smile at the thought.

"Well, well, congratulations to the happy couple!" A sly voice says behind him. Steve rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling when he turns around. Clint's leaning on the door frame, Natasha standing just behind him in the hallway. "So when's the wedding?"

"Ha, ha," Steve replies, crossing his arms. "Very funny. There's no wedding."

The archer gasps sharply, a hand flying to cover his mouth. "Steven! I'm scandalized! Moving in with your beau without tying the knot? What would Jesus say?"

"Oh, I don't know, - 'congrats, you boys have fun, don't forget to use protection?'"

"That does not sound like the Jesus from my Sunday School."

Natasha, smirking, steps closer. "He sounds like a hell of a lot more fun."

"That," Clint points to her. "There is that."

"Seriously, guys!" Laughing, Steve lifts one of the boxes onto the bed, opening the top. "I'm a Christian, not an idiot. How else will I know if I can spend my whole life with Thor if I don't try living with him day to day?" The top of the box contains clothing, already folded, which he starts laying onto the bed. "The Bible is a guide, not a rulebook."

"I like you." Clint says suddenly. "You are my favorite."

Smiling, Steve turns, giving a little bow. "I'll be here all week." He turns back around, lifting the last of his clothes from the box.

"Are those… all your belongings?" Steve jumps.

"Do you make any noise when you move?" He asks, turning to Natasha. The woman's smirking, leaning over his shoulder.

"No. But seriously," She continues, touching the lid of a box. "Is this all your stuff?"

"Well, yeah."

"Wow, Cap." Clint, now standing on Steve's other side, is frowning too, arms crossed. "I think I have more crap in my sock drawer. Is it a money problem? Because Tony has all the money, he'd drown you in it if you asked."

"No, no!" Flushing, Steve closes the box, standing up straight. "I'm fine! I don't need a lot of things. This is fine."

"'Need' and 'want' are two totally different concepts." Natasha starts again. She's lifted the lid of a different box, peering inside. "Half of this stuff is clothes and SHIELD supplies."

Steve smacks her hand away and closes the box again. "Okay, Thing 1 and Thing 2, out! If I wanted somebody to make judgmental comments I'd have called Tony down here. Out, shoo!" His words sound harsher than they are; he's smiling even as he pushes them gently towards the door.

Clint, grinning at Natasha, lifts an eyebrow. "He did just make a reference?"

"He did. I'm very proud."

"Out!" He says with a final laugh, pushing them towards the door. They stumble into the hall, both smiling, turning to face him again.

"We're taking you shopping, big guy!" Clint insists. "Mall of America, you, me, Tasha, Tony's credit card. It'll be great!" He finishes speaking as Steve shuts the door, shaking his head with a sigh.

He loves his team; he really does. But there are days he feels so… estranged from them. It was only two years ago, after all, that he'd been in a war zone, the depression breathing its last as the military industry created plenty of new jobs. Before that, before enlisting, he'd just been a regular guy. Poor, constantly being turned down by employers due to his health problems, barely able to take care of himself and his mother. Without Bucky's help, they'd have died years earlier. And… his mother did die. Not long before he enlisted.

He knows that he lives a different life now. All that's left of that old time, of the years of struggling, of hunger, are his photographs. Smiling, Steve lifts another box onto the bed, opens it up. Yes, these photos. There's not many. But, SHIELD managed to save quite a bit for him, from old files and correspondences.

It's just a hard habit to break, living as if you're poor. Living paycheck to paycheck, surviving on almost nothing… those aren't experiences that you can forget about. No, Steve thinks as he lifts a picture of his mother, and he and Bucky as kids, he doesn't think he'll find it easy to spend money for a long while.

Looking at that photo, of that little guy who didn't fit his own clothes, Steve almost feels estranged from himself. Oh, he still remembers being that small and vulnerable, always will. It's just hard to believe that here he is now, 6 feet tall and over 200 pounds. Sometimes he still can't believe it happened.

He shakes his head, sets the photo aside, and continues unpacking his other things. And in exactly ten minutes, he suddenly goes very still, eyes wide, as he's hit with a revelation that sends him reeling.

Thor has no idea he was ever that little guy.

Sure, every person on Earth probably knows the story by now. It's been popularized in movies, books, biographies, TV specials. But Thor? He's been on Earth for so little time, and knows next to nothing of history. He has no idea Steve was ever not… Steve. This Steve. Big and tall and strong and handsome. Not… little, scrawny, weak Steve.

And suddenly, those fond memories in the photos don't feel so lovely, they feel – dangerous. Like secrets he's not sure he should tell. Steve finds himself standing over the box of photos, staring wide eyed as if they might bite, hands trembling as they grip the flaps of cardboard. What should he do? What should he do? Thor wouldn't judge him for it, right?

Right. Right, of course he wouldn't. He's Thor. There's no reason to be afraid of what Thor would think of him. Right?

Except… does Asgard even have people who are… weak? Are 'Gods' ever born with illnesses, disabilities, frailties? Would he even understand that once Steve had been so small and sick he couldn't fend off a single guy by himself?

Steve tells himself that Thor is a good man, that he would never judge so mindlessly like that. Yet, he still finds himself closing the box tight, sealing it back up, and sticking it in the back of a closet, somewhere to be forgotten.

…

_**The Next Day**_

…

Rhodey returns to the dining room to find the atmosphere has become tense in his absence. He falters in the doorway, eyes jumping from Tony, to Bruce, to Natasha, and Steve, who all look as if they'd just accidentally chewed something really sour.

"Uh, did I miss something?"

"Bruce is destroying my dreams of being a pharmacist," Tony grins, leaning down to put his elbows on the counter. "I'm crushed."

Whatever happened, Tony's light-heartedness has eased the mood, somewhat. Bruce is smiling again, at least. "You may have a lot of degrees, Tony, but I know for sure a doctorate in pharmaceuticals is not one of them."

Rhodey, shaking his head, approaches the doctor. "Don't give him ideas, Bruce, he might go for it."

"Nah," Tony's got a dismissive look on his face. "School's boring. Too much reading, not enough doing."

There's a joke about Tony and how much "doing" he did when they were in school on the tip of Rhodey's tongue, but he keeps it to himself. Between the two of them, Tony would have laughed. But here, with the team? He's still very sensitive about his old reputation. Especially with Bruce. As much as Rhodey is absolutely sure no one in this room would think less of him for his past – they'd be hypocrites if they did – Rhodey's not about to upset him. Knowing when to poke fun, and when to shut up, that's the difference between a friend, and a best friend.

"Here, doc," Rhodey says, handing over a handful of paperwork and a few prescription bottles. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Bruce smiles, looking over the bottles. "All right, I guess I'm out of here. I'll see you tonight." He starts for the door as the group waves and says farewell, but he doesn't make it far before Tony's jogging after him.

"Excuse you, mister, where do you think you're going without –" He follows Bruce into the elevator, and his voice is lost. Still, Rhodey imagines he knows what's going down, and it brings a smile to his face.

He's thrilled, beyond thrilled, that Tony has found someone who makes him happy. Was he nervous about it being the Hulk at first? Naturally. But that was before he really knew Hulk, or Bruce. Now, he can see why it works, because they just click. Tony is a raging storm, and Bruce is his touchstone, his rock. Tony needs someone to balance him like that.

Like Rhodey used to.

Closing his eyes, he forces the thought away before it can drudge up any memories. No use dwelling. What's past is past, and it would be selfish for him to be anything but happy for Tony.

"You okay?"

He jumps just a little at Steve's voice. "Uh, yeah, sorry." Rhodey tries to smile reassuringly, but he doesn't think it's very convincing. Steve is standing at his shoulder, brow furrowed, concern written on his face, but he doesn't say anything. "Just a little out of it. I could use some more sleep." Not like he ever sleeps enough.

"I hear you." Steve sighs, posture relaxing. "I don't think I've slept a whole night through in years."

The words are surprisingly, painfully candid, and it shocks Rhodey a little that the Captain America is here being this open with him. For a moment, he's taken aback, and doesn't say a word. "… is that what your prescriptions for? A sleep aid?"

Steve flushes a little. "No, ah, it's not." He starts. "It's – what did Tony call it? Prozac? To calm me down… about, uh, things." The red color has spread from his cheeks to his neck, and it's kinda the most adorable thing ever. Rhodey clears his throat.

"You mean anxiety?"

"Yeah, that's what they called it. SHIELD, I mean." Steve glances away. "It's just – there's so much new stuff to take in nowadays. I feel like I'm always behind, and making a fool of myself. I can hardly talk to anybody without being terrified of embarrassing myself."

Hot damn, if that's not textbook anxiety. "Hey, it's okay." Rhodey puts a hand on his shoulder, hoping to convey comfort. He's not exactly the best at the whole emotions thing either, though being friends with Tony usually makes him come out on top in that category. "You don't have to explain. Everybody has their hang ups."

Steve nods, seemingly placated. "So, what's yours? Hang up I mean."

He drops his hand, though really he doesn't want to; Steve is warm and firm beneath Rhodey's hand, and wow, that was not the direction his thoughts were supposed to be taking at all. "Uh – pain. I mean, stuff for pain. I have – pain."

Wow. Rhodey fights the urge to smack himself in the head.

"Sorry, I mean – a few years ago, when I was still a pilot in the Air Force, I was in a pretty bad wreck that messed up my left leg." Just saying the words, he can almost feel it around him: the blistering heat; the echo of metal ripping and glass shattering, the air sharp as a whip; and then suddenly, just losing his leg, as if it had been left behind, as if it had just vanished into nothing. And when it came back to him, when he could feel again… he never stopped feeling it. It never stopped hurting, after that. "The meds help dull the pain some."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Steve says finally. And that is the beginning of a very awkward silence.

The room is basically empty at this point. Everyone's cleared out, or moved to the couch, where the TV's been turned to the Cable input. Rhodey glances that way, a little antsy. What now? It's not like he doesn't want to talk to Steve, but he has no idea what to say! And as much as he would love to start gushing about his historical knowledge of Steve's career and he has a thousand questions about the war, he would rather not be seen as the 2nd Coulson, thanks.

"So, you're in the Force?"

"Yes, sir." Rhodey almost sighs in relief.

"What's your rank?"

"Lt. Col."

"An officer." Steve's smirking, like he's… impressed? And the look is enough to bring heat to Rhodey's face. "You know, technically, you outrank me."

What? "N – No, I'm not – I couldn't – You're Captain America!"

The smirk has become a grin, spreading ear to ear. "Colonel beats Captain."

"Okay, yes, technically you're right, but the Captain isn't – it's not like the actual rank "Captain", it's an honorary title, Captain America is – that's a whole other rank outside everything else!" Rhodey insists. He's talking with his arms flailing all around, passion in his voice. "I mean, you – sir – you're an inspiration to millions. You're a hero! No amount of military training or experience could ever count more than that."

The fire in his veins dies down a little, and suddenly Rhodey realizes the room has gone very quiet. The TV's even on mute, and Thor and Clint have turned around, staring at the both of them. Then, because he's Clint and he goddamn has to, the archer breaks the silence with a grin. "Someone's got a crush!"

Mortified, Rhodey stiffens, panic setting his bones alight. "No, I'm just – I'm not – I mean, not that your not -!" Gesturing to Steve, Rhodey turns to see the blond is blushing again, but he's smiling too.

And the cherry on the cake? Tony, who apparently came back into the room at some point, puts his hand on Rhodey's shoulder and leans in. "He had a poster of you on the wall of his dorm all four years of college." The man grins, waggling his eyebrows, and that's when Steve breaks into giggles.

As cute and endearing as the sound of Steve Rogers giggling is, Rhodey thinks as he grabs his friend in a chokehold, Tony still has to die.

…

_**November 4**__**th**_

…

Thor is in a merry mood whilst he prepares the family meal. It had taken some cajoling, but he managed to convince Director Fury to remain for dinner, after his impromptu visit to discuss, of all things, Asgardian courtship rituals. A strange, but pleasant development. Thor wishes only the best for Nick Fury and Heimdall and their courting.

The hour is late, and the Avengers have all gathered in the main living space. Some are sprawled across the couch, in front of the television. Bruce and Tony are at the table, working on some project or other, their paperwork and computers spread across half its surface. The Director, meanwhile, is seated at the kitchen counter, watching as Thor throws together the last of the evening meal.

"You know," Fury starts, a small smile on his face. "If you'd told me a year ago I'd be watching the God of Thunder making spaghetti and meatballs like the Barefoot Contessa, it'd killed me."

Thor is unsure of what a 'Barefoot Contessa' is, but Fury's voice seems to imply that the comparison is funny. He shrugs. "I enjoy the work. It is fulfilling." And it is now one of the few ways Thor can contribute to this group. He has no great scientific knowledge, and he is horrifically ignorant of the ways of Midgard. With no trade besides fighting, and no currency of worth on this realm, Thor is… well, he has nothing. The other Avengers bring vast wisdom, resources, and experiences to the team, but Thor? He is skilled with Mjolnir, and that is all.

It is… disheartening. Though he still has his powers, he feels almost more lost than he did when he'd been banished without them. He is completely dependent upon the goodwill of his fellows. Without them, he could not navigate Midgard. He'd have no home, nothing to eat. On Asgard, Thor gave back to his people as much as was given to him. Now, he feels so – useless. Like a burden.

"I'm not dissing you, Thor." Nick Fury continues. "It's just an odd look on you. Domesticity." Then, his smile becomes a smirk, and he shrugs. "You know what? It kinda fits. The whole protective big brother thing. Fixing dinner, cleaning dishes, making sure the babies are fed."

"Who are you calling babies?" Tony, lifting his head from his work, calls out from the table. "I am perfectly capable of paying someone to fix my own meals for me."

Nick just points behind him. "That. Baby."

Grinning, Thor opens the silverware drawer, and begins removing the utensils. "They can be, indeed. But I do not fault them; they are young yet."

"Hey!"

Nick and Thor both laugh brightly at Tony's indignant squawk, and even the inventor is smiling a little. "Gotta admit, compared to him," Nick starts. "We're all infants."

The conversation continues as Thor calls the team to dinner, and everyone slowly meanders into the dining hall. The table is delicately cleared of research materials, and chair by chair, the space is filled.

"So," Nick, who is given the head of the table, begins. "How's our resident Trickster God doing?"

Thor frowns slightly; a tremble runs through his arms. Loki. "He is…" Angry? Sullen? Violently opposed to company of any kind? "… fine."

Only so long ago, Thor had sat at Loki's bedside, praying to all the Powers that Be that his brother would survive. A brother who twice risked his own life and went out of his way to protect Earth, seemingly for the sole reason that Thor wished to protect it. A brother who resurrected the man he murdered, Son of Coul, refusing to give any reason for his actions. Who acts in such contradictory fashions, so much like his old self, yet still so cold and bitter. _Oh, Loki._

The mood at the table has grown tense, and Thor knows it is his fault. He sighs, stabbing a fork into his meal. For all intents and purposes, he should be happy. His brother is alive and well, and not trying to take over any of the Nine Realms. (Knock on wood, as Steve would say.) Yet, there is more distance between them than there has ever been, and every time he has attempted to bridge that gap, he has been cruelly tossed aside.

He is at a loss, mourning and missing the brother who is just out of reach.

"So!" Tony starts suddenly, breaking the rigid silence. "What about that Mjolnir? Rhodey, you have to tell me your secret. We're besties, you can't hold out on me."

Rhodey, across from Tony, looks up. "What about it?"

"You do know the whole secret magic thing right?" Tony continues. "'He who holds this hammer – something something – has to be worthy, or something?" Waving his hand in the air, he continues. "Whatever. Long story short – you can lift it, practically nobody else can, tell me your secrets, Oh Worthy One."

"What?" Rhodey had, quite unfortunately, continued eating during Tony's discussion, and thus has found himself sputtering around a mouthful of spaghetti in surprise. Thor looks his way, smiling.

"I have wondered much the same." Thor begins. That draws the airman's attention; he turns to look at Thor, eyes wide as dinner plates.

"I have a theory." All eyes turn to Natasha. Wiping her mouth, she sets her fork aside and stands, approaching Mjolnir. Thor always keeps it near. As of now, it sits upon a shelf nearby, awaiting his call. Natasha turns to him, hand outstretched. "May I?"

He nods. "As you will."

Then, Natasha places both hands on the hilt, pulls – and nothing comes of it. She frowns slightly, but nods. "You ever tried lifting it, Director?"

The man lifts an eyebrow. "Can't say that I have."

"Come give it a shot."

He stands, passing the table to approach her. Natasha steps away. Fury places only one hand upon the hilt, and – it lifts! It comes a few inches off the wood, though Fury quickly lifts his other hand to grab the hilt as well. "Damn!" The man starts, frowning. "Who made this thing, ACME?"

But Natasha is smirking. "I thought so."

"Well, come on," Tony, who is half standing out of his seat like an exuberant child, says. "Share with the class!"

"Mjolnir was made for you specifically, right Thor?"

Thor nods. "Yes," He remembers the day it was bequeathed to him, the honor, the glory. Those memories seem so distant now.

"And you're the heir to the throne?" Natasha doesn't wait for an answer. "Presumably, this is a weapon made for a King. The 'worth' is derived from those qualities – things that would make a person a good King. Leadership ability, a willingness to sacrifice oneself or to suffer for others, loyalty to a cause or concept bigger than oneself – a country, an organization, a military, a kingdom," She says, looking respectively to Steve, Nick, Rhodey, and Thor. "Putting the cause before the self, fighting for a specific group of people, feeling bound to that group."

Rhodey gives a laugh. "I told you Tony, it's about being part of something bigger than yourself!" Thor's not sure what that means, but Tony seems to. He starts to grumble, irritated, which makes Rhodey laugh harder.

…

_**November 5**_

…

"Hey, look who's alive!"

Natasha, only half asleep, hears Clint's voice brush against her ear. He's not being particularly loud; she's just very close, slumped against his side, head tucked into the crook of his neck. It's been a long time since they rested together like this. In SHIELD, they used to share quarters. It was the only way Natasha could relax enough to sleep at night. She trusted Clint to have her back.

"Want to join us? We've got Papa John's and we're about to start a movie."

She hears Tony's voice behind them respond. "Thanks, but I think I'm going to head to bed." His response brings about a chorus of farewells and goodnights, but Natasha is too tired to bother. Everyone – except for Clint – probably thinks she's sleeping anyway.

It's been… it's been rough, these past few months. In many ways, the Avengers are the best thing to have ever happened to her. But in others, she has lost a great deal. Without SHIELD, without their protection, Natasha finds it hard to feel at ease here in the US. She's not a natural-born citizen, she's an ex-Russian spy turned traitor. At one time, she had value. Now, she's been dismissed. It's only a matter of time before someone comes along to clean up the mess. They would never risk leaving loose ends, and Natasha Romanov knows too many secrets.

It's something she's spoken to Clint about at length, but he seems unbothered. "We've got your back, Nat." Yes, she knows they do. That's what worries her. The Avengers, for all their might and magic, are not spies. Not even Clint can really come close to Natasha's skill level, to what she does. When her enemies come for them, they won't stand a chance. Espionage, sabotage, assassination – those are not the Avengers forte. Not by a long shot.

Some days, she wakes in the middle of the night with a start, covered in sweat, Pepper asleep beside her, and she wonders – why is she still here? Why is she not going underground, why isn't she running? It's the only way to be safe. Erase herself, start over, get as far away as possible. Yet, in those dark hours, when she's half convinced that leaving is the only course of action, at the first sight of her lover comfortably tucked into the bed beside her… she suddenly doesn't have the heart for it.

Weakness. These are weaknesses she is undoubtedly going to be made to regret.

"What are we watching?" The couch jostles her a little as Steve takes a seat on her left.

"Hm, dunno. What do we feel like guys?"

When no one is immediately forthcoming with ideas, Steve speaks up again. "Well, I, uh," He starts anxiously. "I have one, if no one else minds?"

"Go for it, Cap." Rhodey says from the other couch.

"You guys sure you don't mind?"

"Do not fret so much, Steven." Thor's words are accompanied with a minor earthquake that shakes the couch. She can hear him and Steve adjusting their positions next to her. "None of us would deny you the chance to enjoy a film."

"Thanks, guys." He truly sounds thrilled, and it's an endearing sound. "Normally I'd wait and watch it myself, it's just – I couldn't believe it when I saw it, I had to buy it –"

"You bought something?" Natasha sits up suddenly.

"You – you were asleep!"

"Resting my eyes," She shrugs. "What'd you buy?"

Flushing, Steve fumbles with the DVD case. "It's, uh – it's called the Hobbit? I don't know if you guys have heard of it, but in my time, it was a really famous book."

"Gee, Cap," Clint starts. "Is that the book by that British guy, what's his name? Tolgin? Tilken? Eh, I heard it was alright."

Natasha elbows him in the ribs. "Play nice."

"It's pretty famous, Steve." Rhodey answers him seriously. "Tolkien's a cult classic nowadays."

"Really?" Steve grins at him as he sits back down, having already put the film in. "That's great! I always loved his book. People were pretty mean about it – an English Professor writing silly kid stories didn't impress a lot of folks. But I always thought it was swell."

"He just said 'swell', Nat, I'm gonna cry."

Natasha elbows Clint one more time, for good measure.

…

When The Hobbit was published in 1937, Steve was in his late teens. Puberty had come and gone, leaving him disappointingly similar physically to how he began, a scrawny, fragile, little guy who barely broke 5 feet. It seemed he was sick every few weeks, laid up in bed and unable to work, constantly losing jobs and money because he couldn't handle the stress or the exertion.

It was during one of these sick spells that his mother bought him The Hobbit. He'd been – shocked, honestly. Money was tight, and a brand new book, that was an indulgence. But she had insisted he keep it, and as he wanted her to be happy, he agreed.

Steve read it the first time through in one sitting. Then, he promptly went right back and read it all the way through again. By the time he was overseas, his copy of the book had enough wear and tear the binding was coming off. And he did take it with him, to the war, one of the few personal belongings he dragged along with him. He couldn't imagine leaving it behind.

It meant more to him than he could say.

So, to find that the book had been made into a film? It was like being struck by lightning. On a whim, Steve had started looking around on the internet on various shopping sites, after Natasha and Clint's comments about his belongings. No, he didn't need a lot of things, but granted, his room is pretty… sparse. Besides art supplies, which thanks to Tony, he'll never be in dire need of ever again.

It was online that he'd seen the film being sold, and he'd promptly bought it. How could he not? A film version of his favorite book of all time? It's a dream come true.

"You seem very pleased," A voice whispers into his ear. The depth and closeness of it sends a shiver through Steve, hot and heavy.

Turning to Thor, Steve smiles. "I am."

"Good." Thor tells him quietly. They're so close, their lips are practically brushing as they speak. "That please me." Steve's smile widens, as he glances from Thor's eyes, down to his lips. In the dark, with the light of the TV screen playing across his face, Thor seems more otherworldly than usual. Eyes half lidded, voice kept low and quiet, he's practically a temptation.

"Hey, no making out during movie time!"

Clint's voice brings a flush to both men's faces as they immediately put distance between one another.

"You're just jealous." Rhodey starts with a laugh. "You're make out buddy's still out of town."

"Yeah, yeah, point still stands." He grumbles, making Rhodey's point by the tone of his speech. "Just watch the movie."

Really, he needn't of said anything. By that time, the movie has properly begun, and suddenly Steve finds himself glancing into the wonders of Middle-Earth.

…

Thor enjoys movies. While oral storytelling is still his preference – there's nothing like listening to a good bard spin his story – this Midgardian visual storytelling has its advantages. For one, he can sit and enjoy the feeling of Steve pressed close against him, head upon his chest.

The tale is interesting enough. Adventure, epic battles, a grand quest for a lost homeland, all concepts worthy of a great Asgardian legend. Though, it certainly is strange, as many Midgardian things are. Thor worries for the Hobbit. He is not a burglar, much less a fighter! What a risk it is, for the wizard Gandalf to have brought him. Tis foolish, even. Such a small, fragile creature, untrained in any form of combat, is like to be killed by the adventure's end, and be more of a burden than ought else. He may even get another in the company injured or killed, trying to protect him.

The longer the film goes on, the more Thor finds himself questioning why this Hobbit is even present in the tale. What sense does it make? He has no standing in the quest, it is not his homeland. He wants not for the treasure that will be found at the end, and he has no skills. No magic, no swordsmanship, nothing at all, with which to offer the company. It seems, time and again, he is simply a dead weight upon them.

Frowning, Thor adjusts his position on the couch. He finds he's strangely irritated by this. As a warrior, and one who has been on many a quest, he finds this Midgardian version almost – insulting! No Asgardian would bring along a companion who had nothing to offer, who in coming would simply be a risk to themselves and to the others. It would be irresponsible, foolhardly. Did Odin ever let Thor come along on his quests and battles, when he was but a boy, and wanted to join him? No, of course not. Had he, Thor would likely be dead!

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Thor sighs. "Forgive me, but I do not understand." He starts. The others in the room turn to him; Steve hits the pause on the remote.

"What's up?"

"This Hobbit, what is his role in the tale?" Thor begins. "He seems only to bring trouble with him, endangering himself and his comrades. I cannot fathom why Gandalf would risk Bilbo's life and the lives of those he travels with, for what seems to me to be a whim!"

Steve is quiet for a moment. "A… whim?"

Shrugging, Thor nods. "I cannot see why else Gandalf did so. He was asked to find a burglar, after all – yet, it seems he chose Bilbo because it entertained him. He said as much! It seems selfish, and dangerous, to me. I cannot see the heroism in it."

Suddenly, Steve goes bright red in the face. "Can't see – you can't see the heroism in it?"

A voice across the room goes, "Oh, boy." Thor's not sure who it was, because he's given all his attention to his now very irate partner.

"The whole story's about heroism!" He insists. "About – about risking yourself and taking a chance to help other people! Bilbo didn't have to leave the Shire, but he does, to help the dwarves."

Thor can't help himself; he snorts. "What help has he given them?"

"He saved them from the trolls!"

"That's questionable." Thor thinks back to the scene, frowning. "Gandalf would likely have arrived in time, either way. And it was his actions which led to their being caught in the first place. Time and again, Bilbo has been a danger to the company, and has almost died himself. For what? For a wizard to laugh at his troubles?"

"For – !" Steve, now quite heated, stands up. "Gandalf chose him because he seemed so unlike traditional heroes. That's the point! That this guy no one thinks can be heroic, this little fellow who doesn't seem to matter at all, he can be a hero too. Just – just the fact that he wants to help, that he – that he tries!"

Thor finds he's standing now as well, though he's not certain when he moved. "Tis a foolish story, then." He snorts. "Trying is not enough, trying will get you _killed_. On Asgard, no untrained civilian would be allowed to join a quest, it would be a mockery!"

"Well, this isn't Asgard!" Steve says. "And down here, anybody can be a hero."

"I doubt that." Thor, sighing, turns away. "Forgive me, but I cannot see how that little man will ever be more than a burden."

No reply is forthcoming. Sighing again, Thor looks up – but Steve is gone. Startled, Thor glances around. "He – he left?"

"This is wonderful." Natasha starts with a heavy sigh. "Thor, sit down. We're going to watch the rest of the movie."

Cocking an eyebrow, he glances at her. "Why?"

"To prove a point. So you can go apologize to your boyfriend later."

Huffing, Thor sits, arms crossed, irritation tickling his skin… yet, he feels regretful as well. He hadn't meant to be so cross. It's only… what?

He's not sure. He just feels so – so angry. Angry, and lost. Ever surrounded by a world in which he does not fit, desperately missing a home which will not have him back.

…

Heimdall is drawn out of his tale by the sound of footsteps behind them. He and the Queen turn as one.

"Ah, forgive me, I," The Queen, suddenly harried, turns in place, glancing from Heimdall to the new arrival. "I lost track of the time." Smiling, she pats Heimdall's arm, and nods, a discrete sign that they have spoken enough today.

She steps down from the dais, and Heimdall turns to watch her as she does. Then, he lifts his gaze. Standing in the entryway of his post is a young woman. She is rather tall, almost Thor's height, with broad shoulders and long, lanky limbs. Dressed in dark green robes, the woman carries the staff of a sorceress, a matching emerald gem embedded in its end. Her long, thick blonde hair is pulled back into a bun on the back of her head, her hair pushed out of the way of her eyes by a set of small braids.

"Heimdall, allow me to introduce my new apprentice." Queen Frigga begins, coming to stand by the woman's side. Heimdall steps down from his post, inclining his head. The woman curtsies in reply.

"You have taken on a student?"

"Yes, I thought it was time." She says, smiling at the woman. "It has been quite a while since I taught another magic. Since my son, in fact. But this young woman," Frigga continues, placing a hand on her shoulder. "She shows great promise." Pride is clear in her voice, and it brings a pleasant flush to the woman's face. "My student, Amora."

"Thank you, your majesty." Then, she turns to the gatekeeper, inclining her head.

Heimdall does the same. "A pleasure, ma'am. My queen," He turns to her. "Shall we adjourn, and continue another day?"

"Soon," she says emphatically. "I have business to which I must attend, but I will return, when I can."

"Very well," Heimdall agrees as Frigga and Amora leave together. "Soon."


	3. Book 1: Part 3: Disaster

_I thought this chapter would be longer, but I've been so busy with finals and projects, I haven't had the time. So instead of letting what I'd already written linger in a folder for another week, I decided to go ahead and post it. I'm aiming to update by this Saturday._

* * *

Heimdall is halfway to the Throne Room when the Queen finds him.

"It is true, then?" She asks, rushing to keep up with Heimdall's quick pace. He nods in reply, eyes clouded and dark. "When did this happen?"

"Not half an hour ago," He answers, frowning. They take the stairway into the main hall of the castle, the doors opened for them by the guards at either side. "The King demanded he be taken prisoner."

"Whatever for!" Frigga exclaims, hardly attempting to keep her disdain quiet. "What has he done to merit such treatment?"

Fuming, Heimdall keeps his own anger in check - somewhat. "I do not know."

They enter the hall together. Guards are gathered in a circle close to the throne, but at seeing the two of them, they part. There, in the center, kneeling and in chains, is Clint Barton, of Midgard.

Odin stands upon the throne behind him, his eye raised to Heimdall and Frigga, narrowed and dark.

"Gatekeeper," The King begins, stepping down from his position above them. "Are you not charge with guarding the borders of this realm?"

Heimdall comes to a halt a few feet away from Clint, and inclines his head. "It is so, my liege."

"And is it not also your duty to detain and defeat any intruders, whoever they may be?"

"It is, my -"

"Then tell me!" Odin interrupts, voice rising. "Why is this mortal here, summoned to our sacred realm, and granted entry by your own device!"

Frigga, turning to her companion, grows concerned. "What happened?" She whispers to him. Still holding his King's gaze, he kneels.

"I chose to save his life, my liege, and in doing so, broke my most sacred vow." He admits, head down. "I do not regret my decision, only that in making it, I broke your trust."

"Save his - what care is it of yours, or any Asgardian, whether a mortal lives or dies?"

Closing his eyes, Heimdall breathes in deep. He begins to answer, only to be cut off. The Queen steps ahead of him.

"I asked it of him." Frigga says. As she speaks, she glances to the archer. The mortal's head is lowered, shoulders slumped, pain and exhaustion written in the lines of his frame. She worries for him. "This man is one of the Avengers, an ally of our son's. It was I that bid Heimdall watch over and protect those that Thor calls his friends."

King and Queen each hold each other's eyes, and their tongues. The King turns away first; bidding his guards take the prisoner to the dungeon.

"Your highness, I must ask why." Heimdall stands immediately. "He has not come of his own accord, he is no spy. Allow me to return him home, and -"

"Be silent!" Odin turns on the man, furious. "Or you shall take a cell alongside him!" Then, he is gone, storming out of the room with long strides.

Frigga turns to Heimdall immediately. "How did this happen?"

Heimdall, lifting his eyes, glances around. "Not here." She nods, and glances round as well.

"Follow me."

He takes after her through the castle, through many twists and turns, until they come to a room hidden well away from the main floors, with many spells and illusions guarding its secret. It is a library, and an office, a place of study; and when Frigga and Heimdall enter, they find the Queen's student Amora sitting among the books.

"Your majesty!" The woman starts, leaping to her feet. "What has happened? I heard the alarm -"

"Not now." The Queen tells her, then turns to Heimdall, her enraged eyes narrowed thin. "Tell me everything."

…

_**The Week of November 11**_

…

Pepper Potts knows a great deal about Tony Stark. She knows, for a fact, that he is quite capable of feeling emotions, however he might pretend to be cold and distant. She knows he has trouble opening up to others, and getting close to them, for reasons she imagines could keep a psychologist busy for a year. And she knows, no matter how he tries to hide it, exactly what he is feeling almost 99% of the time.

"Okay," She starts, leaning forward to put her hands on her desk. "Who are you hiding from?"

It's been… interesting, running Stark Industries almost entirely on her own. Tony is still heavily involved, especially on the research end, but all the business is hers. She goes to meetings, signs on the dotted line, does all the official work. It's - well, it's fun! All the power and prestige that comes with being a CEO, and none of the ridiculous stress of being the assistant of an eccentric CEO. Not that being CEO isn't stressful; it just honestly does not compare.

"What makes you think I'm hiding maybe I just missed you and wanted to say hello." Tony says quickly, all in one breath, which may as well be a confirmation. He always has trouble controlling his mouth when he's nervous or upset. "It's been weird, not having you around from time to time."

"I'm around." But it's true; the more duties she's taken on at Stark Industries, the less time she's had to visit Tony and Natasha and the other Avengers. She doesn't stay at the mansion much anymore; it's just too long of a commute. Sometimes, she feels really guilty about it. But this is her life, and she loves her job. Eventually, she'll find a way to balance her work life and home life… right?

"Not much." He glances away, eyes lidded, and sighs. "But yeah, okay, I'm hiding, can you blame me? The house is about to explode with tension, I swear. I can't even breathe in there."

"What happened?" Concerned, Pepper narrows her eyes, taps her finger on the desk. Before Tony starts to speak, she's already imagining a thousand horrible scenarios, that are probably much worse than the reality.

"Thor and Steve are having some kind of relationship crisis because of the goddamn Lord of the Rings, I kid you not - I told you those stories are horrible, technology is evil and trees are our friends my ass. Clint is constantly moping because Coulson's having a month-long sleepover with Xavier, and the fact that Loki even exists on the same planet as us ticks him off. Oh, and I might have tried reaching out to our resident megalomaniac and got halfway choked to death as a result, so that was fun. Yay me."

Pepper sits quietly, trying to work her way through that mumbled mess, dazed and vaguely confused. "I'm going to need some elaboration on that last point."

Tony's smile twitches and weakens, and he gives a nervous laugh. Rubs the back of his head, looks away.

"Today, Tony!"

"All right, I just - he was having nightmares." Tony starts. "And Pep, you know - I mean you remember. I did, too. They sounded the same. He's - there are these scars all over him, nasty shit that none of us ever did to him, and the whole thing just stank. So I started poking around, and -" He shrugs, sets his chin in his hand. "I think - okay, no, I know for a fact - whoever the masterminds behind the Chitauri are, they coerced Loki into helping them through torture. I can't even imagine what kind of shit an alien civilization like the one I saw through that portal could dream up to torture with."

Pepper falls back into her chair, slumping. "Oh, Tony." Of course, he would have to start sympathizing with the guy. Of course he would.

"So I just, I figure, whatever his motives were, are, however selfish and horrid he is - that doesn't justify what happened. He's clearly still fucked up, and he needs help."

"I don't think any psychologist in the country would agree to see Loki." Or that Loki would agree to seek any form of help. She tries imagining it, and can only see it ending in a lot of bloodshed.

"I know, that's not ever gonna happen. But - Pep, he was screaming himself hoarse. Whatever demons are in his closet, they're not pretty." Leaning forward, Tony puts his arms on her desk, eyes pleading. "He doesn't have anybody. I had you and Rhodey to help me, and now I've got Bruce and the team. He's completely alone."

"What about Thor?"

Sighing, Tony leans back. "I don't see that bridge being rebuilt in this lifetime, if ever."

"So, what? You think he's going to open up to you?"

"Probably not." Glancing down, Tony fiddles with the pen in his hand. "I mean, it's ridiculous to even think about it."

She nods, understanding. "But you have to try."

"Yeah." Tony says. "I have to try."

Frowning, Pepper tries to think of something to say, some way to encourage him, but she doesn't get the chance. A knock on the office door brings them out of their conversation. Pepper sits up, her work face already back on. "Come in."

Her secretary pokes her head in. "Sorry, ma'am, but your 11 o'clock is here, and I didn't think you'd want to keep him waiting."

Oh, god! That meeting was today? "Right, yes, send him in." She starts adjusting her desk a little, making sure it looks alright, then turns to Tony. "I'm sorry, but I've -"

"No, it's cool." He says, standing, placing the pen back in the cup on her desk. Then he smiles. "Thanks for listening." He moves to the door, passing right by the man who has an appointment with Pepper. They exchange sharp looks for just a moment, but it doesn't last long. Pepper hardly notices.

She stands, moving around her desk to shake the man's hand. "Welcome, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Osborn."

"No, Ms. Potts," Norman Osborn insists with a smile. "The pleasure is all mine."

…

_**Later That Evening**_

…

When Stark returns home, Loki is watching him.

He remains invisible, as he usually is. Traveling through the mansion is all but impossible otherwise. Thor haunts his every step, and the others keep an all too uncomfortable close eye upon him. He'd much rather be as alone as he possibly can.

The mortal seems tired. His eyes are downcast, expression haggard, and he does not walk so much as stumble into the house. Stark walks past Loki into the main room, collapsing onto the couch.

"Hey, JARVIS," He speaks, lifting a hand to rub his forehead. "Where are the others?"

"Miss Romanoff and Mister Barton have left to visit Xavier's mansion. Mister Odinson is in the gymnasium on the first floor, and Mister Rogers is in the gym on the second floor."

Tony snorts. "Typical."

"Lt Col Rhodes is helping Mister Banner in the labs."

"And what about Loki?"

Cocking an eyebrow at the ceiling, Loki smirks. Oh, what fun it is to run circles around these mere mortals.

"He is in the room with you, sir."

Tony and Loki leap to their feet as one, both sharing wide eyed expressions of shock. "Whoa, hey!" Tony starts. "I thought I programmed the device to tell me immediately when Loki starts doing his Invisibility Cloak routine?"

"You were not present in the mansion at the time, sir."

"Oh, yeah, because you didn't just not tell me to enjoy the look on my face."

"I'm appalled at the accusation, sir."

Tony seems to have recovered from the moment; Loki, however, has decidedly not. He's still staring, somewhat slack jawed, somewhat furious. His magic is some of the strongest in Asgard, and only a few, a mere handful of sorcerers could ever see through and detect his enchantments.

But this - this measly little tin man? This mortal has devised a way to detect his presence when none should be able to?

Suddenly furious, Loki drops the illusion, and storms across the room towards Tony Stark.

"How long," he begins. "How long have you been able to track my movements?"

"Since you got here." Tony shrugs, cocking an eyebrow. "I mean, seriously, that was the easiest spell to crack. You can't actually erase yourself from existence, there will always be traces of matter where you exist, you can't make matter stop -"

"That cannot be." Loki crosses his arms. "If that were true, you would have told the others long ago. You would have sprung your trap on me any of the countless times I have stood silent amongst your 'friends', or when I have left the mansion!"

"Really? Why?" Tony, crossing his own arms, frowns. "If I do that, then you'll just come up with something else to entertain yourself that might just be a little more stressful for us than your voyeurism kink."

"A… kink? I don't -"

"Anyway, what do I care if you're playing the ghost? All you ever do is watch people. It's whatever." He shrugs.

Cocking an eyebrow, Loki snarls. "Well, if you really have been keeping track of my movement, then -"

"You've gone to every museum in a thirty mile radius, you visit the nearest library and bookstore at least once a week, and twice in the past month you've gone down to White Lake and played the tourist."

Oh. Well.

"How?" Fuming, Loki stalks away, trying to make sense of it. How could this human mortal, with no magic of his own, have managed to do something so - so out of his league? Frowning, Loki turns and glares at Tony, repeating his question.

The mortal smirks. "Want to see?"

He takes Loki through the mansion, down a flight of stairs, into his personal workspace. It's something of a mess, and quite loud, though it quiets down when Stark shouts, "Mute!" at the ceiling. Machines and other devices litter the space, and it reeks of oil and fumes. Loki scowls. What a horrid workspace. How would one ever get anything done?

Stark leads him to his desk, pulling up some program or other, which reveals a long line of code Loki cannot comprehend. Exposure to humans has taught him enough to realize that Tony has created some program which monitors his movements, but he cannot understand how it operates. And it infuriates him.

Tony, of course, has been talking all the while, practically in gibberish. "This is… and that's how… then, duh, you have to…"

"Stop." Loki insists loudly, cutting the man off. "Begin again. And do attempt to breathe as you speak, if you are capable of that."

He means the remark to sting, but it doesn't seem to hit the mark. All Stark does is smirk. Then, he begins his explanation again.

…

"_Please, Heimdall… much as I would love to know the details of these past weeks in my son's lives that is a luxury we cannot afford now."_

_I realize that, my lady, but you must understand – it is of vital importance to our situation now. But I shall hasten myself._

_In the time since that day, your son and Tony Stark have formed a strange bond. Stark, out of concern for one in whom he sees shadows of himself, has made attempts to reach out to Loki. The Trickster, at once angered and intrigued by such a beguiling, frustrating mortal, has tolerated him. Your eldest son has found himself stymied, by both brother and lover: unable to understand the anger of either. _

_And so we find ourselves here, today._

…

_**November 24**_

…

"You know," Bruce Banner begins beside her. "I'm not sure SHIELD picked the most appropriate Avengers for this job."

Smirking, Natasha turns to him. "And why not?" Between them stands a set of double doors, leading into the amphitheater behind them. "Don't think we can handle it?"

"It's not that, exactly," Bruce shrugs, vaguely nervous, scratching the back of his head. "I'm just not certain we're the most – visibly intimidating Avengers."

"Neither of us are six foot tall Asgardians, huh?"

"Yeah, that." He laughs.

"You're the Hulk." Natasha shrugs. "And I'm me. If that doesn't intimidate them nothing will."

"I'll grant you – the Black Widow is a terrifying opponent." He says, and she knows he's not joking. It's nice to have teammates who understand her worth. "And so is Hulk." The man laughs. "But how many people put Hulk together with me?"

Natasha will admit, Bruce is not exactly the type she'd have acting security at a big event like this. As Bruce Banner, he's not a very frightening sight. He's really just cute, in that absent-minded professor sort of way. Baggy button up shirt, crinkled slacks and glasses always half-fallen off his nose.

"It's alright," She allows a rare, sincere smile to light her face. "Just do that flashing green eyes thing you do, and nobody will mess with you."

Bruce smiles – then, cocks his head, back towards the door. "Is it starting?" She asks.

"Yeah," The smile becomes a grin. "I can hear Prof. Xavier."

"Tony and Steve are with him?" Bruce nods. "Good." She turns and locks the door. Then, lifting a hand to her ear, she turns on her earpiece. "Barton?"

"_I hear you, Tasha. Everything's fine up here."_ Clint is stationed on the roof of the building, above and behind them. _ "How likely do you think it is shit will go down today?"_

Bruce, hearing him, snorts. "It's the first public assembly for Mutant Rights, if somebody doesn't try to pull something, I'll eat Loki's helmet."

"_What was that?"_

Smirking, Natasha shakes her head. "Bruce says hi."

…

_**Avengers Mansion**_

…

Well, if this isn't the most awkward thing ever.

Sighing, Rhodey sinks down into the couch, lifting his book. Maybe if he sinks low enough he can disappear from the room.

Across from him, on the other couch, sits Thor, stiff as a board and staring down at the carpet as if it offended his honor. Between them, on the third couch, is Loki, who is currently smirking ear to ear, clearly overjoyed at the tense atmosphere his presence has created.

He'd ask himself what he did to deserve this, but hey, he signed up for it didn't he? They said "Join the Avengers", he said, "Where do I sign?" And so here he is, sitting in the Avengers Mansion, playing babysitter to a smarmy trickster God. Clearly one of the high points of his career.

Sighing, Rhodey lets his head fall back against the couch. He may as well give up trying to focus, there's no way he's going to be able to do anything like this.

"You know," He starts as he sits up, turning his book over and setting it on top of the coffee table as he does, "We're going to be stuck here for at least another four hours." Glancing from one stubborn, thick headed brother to the other, he sighs again. "You might as well talk. Or at least do something other than brood," He nods to Thor, "and gloat!" Then Loki.

Loki merely snorts, arms crossed. "I have done nothing of the sort." He insists. "In fact I believe I have been the model houseguest. I was informed that SHIELD required I be guarded during this event, and I gave in to their demands. What more could you want?"

"You could talk to your brother for five minutes." Rhodey immediately retorts.

"Thank you, James Rhodes," Thor holds up a hand towards him. "But tis fine. If my brother does not wish to speak to me, I would not force him to against his will."

"I am not your _brother_."

Loki's sharp, almost vicious retort only makes Thor sigh and hang his head. Rhodey's phone rings, and he picks it up with a quick outburst of, "Oh, Thank God."

"_Rhodey?"_

"Hey, Tony, is everything okay?"

"_No – hell no, it's really not – we need you guys down here, now!"_

Shocked by the outright panic in Tony's voice, Rhodey looks up at Thor and immediately stands. "Yeah, okay, sure, but – what about Loki?"

"_Bring him with you if you have to, but get here! We've got trouble!"_

Nodding, Rhodey begins stepping out of the room, towards the elevator, waving both Thor and Loki to follow him. Thor does immediately, Loki somewhat less so. "Okay, we're on the way. What's up? Somebody attack the convention?"

"_Sort've, but it's not at all who we'd thought it'd be."_ Tony's quiet for a moment, just breathing into the mike, explosions echoing in the din. _"It's the Chitauri!"_

_TBC_


	4. Book 1: Part 4: A Plan

_Ugh, I really wanted to write a much longer chapter here, but I just don't have the time to keep writing this at the moment. I'm working on a short story I hope to get published soon - fingers crossed! - so instead of having what I've written here sit around until I have time to add more, I decided to post it. I may continue just posting small chapters more often, rather than having y'all wait weeks for longer updates. Does that sound good?_

/

"The Chitauri?" The Queen bursts out with suddenly. "They have returned? When did this happen?"

"Only just within the hour, my lady," Heimdall replies. "It is there return which put Clint Barton's life in danger. During the attack, the building upon which he perched was partially destroyed – he was falling to his death."

"And you saved him?" Amora, quite taken in by this strange tale, glances at the man with wide eyes. "But why does the King hold him, then? He came of no fault of his own."

"I suspect I know." Frigga's eyes are dark and narrow as she turns to look at the gatekeeper again. "This Barton… it is he who is the partner of the one called Phil Coulson, is he not?"

Realization dawns. "Yes… my lady."

"What does that mean?" Confusion is clear upon the young mage's face. Amora turns to her teacher. "My queen?"

"Not now, Amora." She insists, waving her towards the door. "We must go, quickly, for there is much to be done. Heimdall," She starts, turning back one last time. "Keep watch over them; the Avengers will come for him, and they will undoubtedly need us before the end." Nodding to her, Heimdall watches the Queen stride away with her student in tow, before turning his golden eyes to the Earth below…

/

"Well, this blows."

Bruce almost cracks a smile as he glances at Tony. But the man's lackadaisical tone belies great pain; the battle today was anything but easy. Rage and guilt so strong they are almost overwhelming threaten to choke him, but Bruce calms himself – and the Hulk – given some thought. They're Avengers, heroes, they have jobs to do. They won't always be able to have each other's backs. Still, that he wasn't there, inside the building, when it collapsed on Tony and Steve… it's eating at him.

Tony's got an ice pack on his head and a grin on his face, like it was just another day. Bruce can hardly believe how easily he takes this shit, how he rolls with the punches. Sometimes he wishes he was that adaptable, but he doesn't have to be. He's got Tony for that.

"Stop moping, _green bean_," Tony tells him, nudging him with a leg. "And I say that with Clint in my heart. When is Clint coming back, by the way?"

It seems Nick Fury is, as usual, almost clairvoyant, because he chooses that moment to stride into the SHIELD meeting room, flanked by Maria Hill on one side, and an agent on the other.

"There's been some… developments." Nick starts, walking in and standing before the table, hands pressed to the top. "Asgard isn't so keen on just handing Clint back over."

"Why not?" Thor, sitting at the table opposite Loki – Loki's positioning, certainly – has his brow drawn together in a very childish confused expression. "He has not committed any crimes, and he is not banished as I am. They should have no grudge against him."

"Not a grudge, dear brother," At the opposite end, Loki is practically preening, feet on the table, picking dried blood off his hands. He'd been brought along to the fight, despite everyone's disapproval, because they really couldn't leave him alone. Bruce remembered, when he was Hulk, watching the immortal fight with no weapons, because they wouldn't allow him any, reveling in it. Tearing Chitauri apart, taking their spears, using magic to throw them about like dolls. He looked more like a God of Wraith and Fury than Mischief, just then.

But the Mischief has returned, full force. He looks up at his brother and grins. "Your father is nothing if not shrewd. He knows a game piece when he sees one, and he will not give it back so easily."

"He is our father, Loki!"

"Charming as the family squabbles are," Fury intervenes before it can go further. "This is very much a crisis situation. One of our own is being held hostage by a very powerful alien military group, and if we don't handle this correctly, the whole thing is going to explode and it is not going to end pretty."

"Let me talk to my father," Thor begins, ignoring the snort of laughter across from him. "He must see reason! There is no purpose to this."

Much as he'd like to believe it, Bruce is (sadly) siding with Loki on this one. Thor's wearing rose-colored glasses; he can't see his father in this kind of light. But Odin is a King, and he's not above playing the political game to get what he wants.

"He must have a stake in this." Natasha, clearly thinking what Bruce is thinking, starts. She's the only one standing, haunting one of the back corners, a furious scowl on her face. "What's his angle?"

"Asgard's been chatting with SHIELD, haven't they?" Tony adds. Then, with a leer, he continues, "Or at least, a certain agent has been talking to a certain –"

"Shut up," Frowning, Nick ignores him, and turns to Thor. "I realize this is your family we're talking about, but I can't hope your father's going to decide to play nice and just hand Clint over. He wants something, and we can't give it to him. So we're going to have to find another way to set Clint free."

"What do they want?" On the other side of Tony sits Rhodey, still in his armor. "You have to have some idea. SHIELD and Asgard have been in communication non-stop ever since the first Chitauri invasion.

"About that," Hill, next to Fury, chimes in. "What happened, exactly?"

"They popped in, they popped out, wham bam, no thank you ma'am." Tony mumbles, leaning forward, pressing both hands to the ice pack on his forehead. Sneaking a hand under the table, Bruce gives his thigh a squeeze. This can't be easy for him. Last time the Chitauri were around... "Same blue shiny portal as last time, only this one was much smaller, and on ground-level."

"We're not sure what they were trying to accomplish." Steve, next to Thor, starts. "It was – chaotic. They appeared, started fighting, and brought the building down on top of us. Most of the civilians got out, and shortly after, they ran back into their portal and vanished."

"A test run?" Hill turns to Fury. "Trying out their new portal tech?"

"Possibly." Surprisingly, it's Loki who answers. "Though this means, of course, you have a traitor in your midst." All eyes turn to Loki, who seems at least vaguely pleased at the attention. "The portals are not one-sided; they must be reciprocal, a power source on both sides. If they are opening on Earth –"

"Then someone on Earth is helping the Chitauri." Tony finishes breathlessly. "Fuck! Who?"

"And what kind of human technology could create one of those things, without the tesseract?"

"That must be why it was smaller." Says Steve. "Less juice."

"That's all well and good," Fury cuts them all off with a wave of his hand. "But we'll worry about the Chitauri threat when the immediate Asgardian War threat is over."

"Asgard would not go to war with Earth." Thor insists quietly, seeming by his tone only half convinced. No one else in the room is even so sure.

/

They're only halfway back to the Avengers base when Tony blurts out, "We have to go get him."

"Course we do." Natasha says to him, lifting an arm and placing it on his shoulder. It's odd, seeing her as the comforting one, but that's what's happening.

"That's what Fury wants, far as I can tell." Steve, flying the jet that's taking them home, says. "He all but said it. SHIELD's hands are tied, but we aren't affiliated with them."

"And if we're caught, they can claim ignorance," Bruce adds in the back. He and Thor have Loki sitting between them.

"There's one huge problem in that plan." Rhodey, with Steve in the front, starts. "We can't get to Asgard, and I don't think we want to take the route that got Clint trapped."

"No, we can't walk through the front door," Their Captain says with a sigh. "But," Turning, he glances back at Loki. "I imagine we've got someone who knows quite a lot about Asgard's back doors."

"I don't know about you guys, but I for one am very good with back doors of all kinds."

"_Tony_."

/

What a horrendous day.

Thor frowns into the drink in his hand. The cup is… rather tiny, dwarfed by his grip, but it will do. He has gotten used to making due in the mortal realm, as little here is made to suit him. Little here accommodates him at all.

Everything is so, so strange, confusing, overwhelming. It's not the technology, though Tony Stark seemed to think so, for a time. Buttons and flashing lights, that is little compared to what Asgard has. It is the culture, the context of this society he now lives in, the history of this world which is his new home, which is too much to take. So much he is missing, so much he cannot grasp.

He and Steve have not shared a bed since their dispute over that silly film. Thor regrets having said anything. He doesn't quite understand it, still, though he did finish the film, and he saw that Bilbo did indeed become a hero. But why does it matter so much to Steve, that this little "hobbit" not be slighted? Thor still thinks it was a foolish decision, whether or not it played out well.

But now, he would take it all back, just to see Steve smile at him again. Their relationship is so new, it disturbs him to know that it has been upset by something so simple, so insignificant. Is this a sign of things to come? Though both Steve and Thor are strangers to this era, is there still too much between them as human and Asgardian, for them to be together?

It might be true – and the thought terrifies Thor.

"So, what's the plan, Cap?" Thor lifts his head and returns his thoughts to the matter at hand. He stands with his team, in the mansion's dining room, where they are all gathered around the table.

"According to Thor," Steve nods in his direction, but does not meet his eyes. "Clint would be kept under the palace, in the dungeons, which means we've got to get right to the heart of Asgard. Easier said than done. Luckily, we've got two people on our side who know the place better than anyone."

This feels… wrong. Using his knowledge of Asgard to help others infiltrate it. Yet, he cannot regret it; for Clint's imprisonment is wrong as well, and Thor would permit much, and commit many crimes to see him returned home.

"That's not a problem for either of you, is it?"

Again, Steve barely looks at him. Thor acknowledges his question with a slight shake of his head. "I will do what must be done to rescue our comrade."

"Oh, not at all," Loki says with a bright grin. For him, it seems like this is a mighty game. Perhaps it is. Thor glances his way, and sees mirth in his eyes, sharp and bitter. He meets his brother's gaze and sneers.

"Good," Steve nods. He stands back, hands on his hips. "This is your home turf. How do we do this?"

Thor glances towards his brother, and their eyes meet again. The look is still burning with ire, but Loki nods. He seems to understand what Thor means to tell him. Mischief, stealth – these are Loki's tricks. He will leave them in his brother's hands.

If Loki appreciates the fact that Thor has stepped aside, acknowledged his expertise, it does not show on his face. The man stands, begins to pace around the table slowly, hands clasped behind his back. He looks, for all the nine realms, as if he is the one in power here, rather than a prisoner.

Loki continues, in silence. For a moment he simply walks, before he lifts a hand to his lips. "Brother," He says, with all the sharpness of an insult. Thor tries not to feel the blow. "You remember our time together at the wedding of Prymr? How we… made our way into his home?"

Oh, yes, he does, and – Thor's eyes widen. He thinks very quickly, and a smile comes to his face. This will work, he knows it, and when he meets his brother's eyes, he knows Loki knows that he understood. And perhaps, there is something, some sentiment besides hatred, in that gaze just then.

/

In Asgard, Heimdall recognizes Loki's reference and lets out a laugh. This is something the All-Father shall never see coming. Oh, he thinks as he turns to find the Queen, he shall enjoy this.


End file.
